


the undone and the divine

by liesmyth



Series: Good Omens Kinkmeme Fills [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angels Made Them Do It, Dehumanization, Dressed/Undressed, Forced Sex, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Spitroasting, Touch-Starved, heaven trash party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-16 17:45:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19657330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liesmyth/pseuds/liesmyth
Summary: “So, the demon Crowley,” Gabriel said. “Want to see how we solved that problem for you?”Or: Crowley gets captured by Heaven. Extremely filthy sex ensues.





	the undone and the divine

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this](https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/616.html?thread=100712#cmt100712) kinkmeme prompt. Featuring a very sleazy Gabriel, a very sad Crowley and a very guilty Aziraphale, and a whole lot of sex.
> 
> Many thanks to Hopelesse for the brilliant editing.

The spring of 1900 rolled over London lazy and cold. It was a brand new century, but the fine details were still to be hashed out, and Aziraphale wasn’t feeling very confident in the future. The nineteenth century had been a fun one, with all its trinkets and inventions and dancing lessons, of all things, and Aziraphale almost wished it had lasted a bit longer. But time went on, and so eventually he’d had to take a decade to himself lest the humans realise something odd was afoot.

Mostly, these days, Aziraphale was bored. He tried not to admit it to himself, but there it was: he missed Crowley, more than any God-fearing angel ought to miss one’s sworn enemy. Worse yet, the acute twinge of loss he sometimes felt made him worry that perhaps his fears had been right in the first place, that they’d gone too far. And the very worst thing was, Aziraphale didn’t want to go back.

Maybe it had been that word. _Fraternising_. He’d thrown it in Crowley’s face, dirty and ugly, and then he’d left and Crowley hadn’t followed, hadn’t come looking for him afterwards like he usually would. A year had gone by, then two, and Aziraphale had been too nervous to seek him out at first. He’d busied himself with exhausting human activities and social rituals, until one morning it dawned on him that he had no idea about Crowley’s whereabouts, and no hints about where he might find him. Under any other circumstances it would have been slightly worrying, but Aziraphale knew the truth. Crowley didn’t want to be found.

What found him instead was Gabriel, who marched through the door of his bookshop mid-morning, all toothy smiles. He was wearing the latest fashion, and a very smug look. Aziraphale steadied himself.

“Aziraphale!” Gabriel clapped him on the shoulder, hard enough to make him wince. “How’s the shop going, champ? I remember that you opened…” He took out his pocket watch. “A century ago, didn’t you? To the day?”

“I remember it,” he said, confidentially, “because we wanted you back Upstairs, you know, since you’d been doing such great work, but then, well, something came up. Anyway.” He cleared his throat, held out his hand, and Aziraphale grasped it gingerly. “I am very glad to announce that you’ve been requested Upstairs, effective immediately. It’s high time for a nice bonus, eh?”

He winked.

Aziraphale, stunned, couldn’t find the words to object. He hadn’t done anything noteworthy of late, especially since Crowley hadn’t been around, and that’d made it harder to send in reports about thwarting. With some difficulty, he extricated his hand from the iron-grip of Gabriel’s hold.

“Don’t you… don’t you want to see your tailor first?” He’d leave a message in the shop for Crowley, for whenever he’d turn up. And, oh, Edwin from the club, who still came to check on him sometimes, and his barber, and Mrs McConnell who—

“Oh, no need, no need.” Gabriel winked at him again. “It’s not a dress-up sort of party, you see.”

 _Party?_ Aziraphale mouthed, stunned, but Gabriel just clasped his shoulder again, and that was that.

He barely had time to close up properly. From the way Gabriel was talking, it seemed like he might be allowed to come back at some point. Aziraphale clung to that hope, and with one last lingering look at his misprint Bibles he let Gabriel drag him outside.

“So the thing is,” Gabriel explained as he led him Upstairs, “We’ve been having some, well -- things are happening, you know? We took inspiration from you, actually.”

Aziraphale couldn’t begin to imagine how to interpret that. “Did you?”

“Of course! We read your reports, you know. Well, sometimes. We trust you, and you’re always so thoughtful, but we’ve decided — the guys and I, you know, the Office, that it’s about time we take some clues from the humans. As God intended.”

“That’s…” Aziraphale thought about it. It didn’t sound much like Gabriel, or Michael, or any angel of his acquaintance. “Nice?”

Gabriel nodded, enthusiastically. “Thought so, too. You sent us that memo, fifteen years ago? The one about cultivating influential political players through social interactions, I never would’ve thought of that myself. But you were right on the money, my boy, and we decided it was about time for some _team bonding_.” He said the words very carefully, like a foreign language he didn’t bother learning. “Also, look at this, we’ve got a lift now.”

Aziraphale blinked, following Gabriel’s rather majestic gesture. He stared at the sparkling new contraption that had been installed in the atrium of the Reception Building, all polished brass and brand new gears, very much resembling the hydraulic marvel that had taken him to the top of the Tour Eiffel just two years ago.

“Come on in, then,” Gabriel said. “It’s great. Just like wings, and you won’t even break a sweat.”

They entered, and a metal grid fell closed, like a cage. Casually, Gabriel snapped his fingers to close the doors from the inside.

“So, your reports,” he said. “You must have noticed, Aziraphale, that you’ve had an easier time of it lately, haven’t you? I can tell just by looking at you. You seem more relaxed.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale chanced. “Uhm, what about my reports?”

“Well, the demon Crowley, of course.” Gabriel grinned just as the doors opened, Heaven stretching out in front of them. “We took care of that for you.”

It was strange, that words could have such an effect. One moment he was standing upright and then he felt a leaden weight go through him, something tight and foreign in his chest, gripping his ribs and making his heart beat faster. A noise, ringing in his ears, like a loud buzzing. His hands trembling slightly at his sides, his throat suddenly dry, and—

“Careful!” Gabriel said, still smiling, catching him under the elbow. “Watch your step. New floor.”

“I see it.” It was pale pink marble, waxed to sparkling. Aziraphale could see his own face reflected in it, looking much more put together than he currently felt. “It’s very… very nice.”

“Nice and modern! That’s how we do things now,” Gabriel said. “So, want to see how we solved your problem for you?”

“My problem,” Aziraphale repeated. He felt like he’d lost a step, a dozen of them, and now he couldn’t seem to catch up. “Would that be…”

“Crowley! Yes. You really don’t have to thank us, Aziraphale. Just duty.”

“Is he—” Aziraphale pushed the words past his throat with some difficulty. “Is he _alive_?”

Gabriel appeared surprised for a moment. Then he blinked. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, yes, of course, that’s not how we do things here. Killing, torture, that’s more like _their_ style, isn’t it? We can’t exactly descend to that level.” He paused. “ _Descend_ , oh, that was nice. But yeah, we wouldn’t kill unless we really have to, not even demons. God would hardly approve.”

Then he smiled, as bright as the shiny floor and the lift with its electric lights. “Oh, Aziraphale, I really want you to see it. Re-education, you know. The future of Heavenly discipline. You’ll have a _blast_.”

The worst thing about it was that Gabriel wouldn’t stop talking.

Aziraphale followed in the Archangel’s footsteps, trying to steady his breath and even his paces, to make sense of the reeling mass of feelings inside his chest, and the entire time he had to smile and nod and pretend he didn’t want to scream.

“You’ll really like this,” Gabriel was saying now, and Aziraphale didn’t quite know what to expect but he was certain that he really wouldn’t. “We’ve had a room made, and the pentacle, it’s like something out of _Malleus Maleficarum_. We got one of those Inquisitors to get it ready.”

“I thought,” Aziraphale said, “that the Spanish Inquisition was one of theirs? Hell’s?”

Gabriel frowned. “Was it? Well, you find righteous men on all sides, that’s what I always say.” He kept walking. “Just like, sometimes, you find demons where you don’t expect to — one of Sandalphon’s agents just stumbled into him, can you believe it? And we thought, we could discorporate him, but what would be the good in _that_? So Uriel said we ought to interrogate him and I thought, brilliant! I gave them a bonus for that.”

“So you’ve been… interrogating him?” He said it very carefully. There were things Crowley could’ve said about him, things Heaven shouldn’t ever know, and Aziraphale hated the small spike of concern he felt for his own safety, even now.

“Well, at first,” said Gabriel. “We had to know what he was doing, you’re always telling us about his wily plans and, you know, we caught him hanging too close to some celestial informers, he could’ve been planning… God knows what!” He shook his head. “Well, we’ve caught the serpent now.”

As if on cue, the corridor opened into a room that hadn’t been there before. It was tall and sharp, all angles, with no ceiling to speak of. Light cascaded pure white from above, casting odd shadows in the corners, and the floor was engraved with a pattern Aziraphale recognised from the days of witch hunts.

“How long…” He swallowed. “How long ago did you say you captured him?”

“Oh, I didn’t,” Gabriel said. “Look, There he is, now.”

He gestured, rather grandly, to the centre of the room.

On a small pedestal there was a glass cage, and in the cage was a snake. The snake was black, its belly dark red, and it looked exactly as Crowley had the first time Aziraphale had met him, back in the Garden. Except that it couldn’t possibly be Crowley now, because Crowley hated taking that form, and everything that came with it. He was afraid, Aziraphale knew, that one day he might remain stuck like that, without the freedom to speak and stand up and walk on two legs. Crowley wouldn’t let himself be… _kept_ like that, not willingly, and then he immediately felt the urge to laugh at his own naivety. Nothing about Crowley in Heaven could ever be willing.

“There he is,” Gabriel said, again, clearly hoping for an appropriate reaction. His grin was very large and very white, and decidedly predatory. “Recognise him?”

“I, uhm,” Aziraphale said. He couldn’t tear his eyes off the cage. It was bare and cramped, and closed on all sides. “I never saw much of him when he was, you know, in snake form, so I am afraid I can’t possibly…”

“Oh, I get it.” Gabriel nodded. “You want us to get him out. We can do that! But first, watch this.”

He rapped his knuckles on the glass and the snake — it couldn’t be Crowley, it couldn’t, but the _eyes_ — the snake jerked awake, and instinctively retreated, and then it — _he_ saw Aziraphale, and recoiled.

“Wake up, sunshine! We’re getting you out.”

He snapped his fingers, and one of the glass walls of the cage disappeared. The snake — and _God_ , it had to be Crowley, didn’t he? Aziraphale watched it move swiftly to the open side of the cage, then hesitate, looking at him with Crowley’s eyes.

“Oh, hurry up, we haven’t got all day,” Gabriel said, much less pleasantly. “Do we need to make it a lesson today? Aziraphale’s here, and we’re going to—”

The snake darted out of the cage, and it was Crowley’s body that fell to the floor.

Aziraphale’s first instinct was to run to him. He repressed it, with some difficulty, and kept himself still and his arms loose at his sides, when all his hands wanted was to curl into fists. He forced himself to look at Crowley, clinically.

He was naked. That wasn’t much of a surprise; he’d been a snake until just now, and snakes seldom wore clothing, just as demons captured in Heaven seldom had the power left to miracle anything up for themselves. Crowley was looking very gaunt, which also was to be expected, and Crowley's hair was messy and not very fashionable. There were red welts and small bruises all over his body, discoloured and in various stages of healing.

He wouldn’t look Aziraphale in the eyes.

“Told you, it’s him,” Gabriel said. “Now, if you come closer, I promise he won’t bite.”

“How long…” Aziraphale breathed. He tried again. “How long have you had him?”

“I’ll tell you what, if you guess, I’ll tell you how close you are. But seriously, look at him. See?” he asked, triumphant. “Look how nice he’s being. You’d think, a demon, he’ll try to spit and curse at you as soon as he’s got the chance, right? But not Crowley here. He’s been coming along very nicely.”

And then he said, “Come closer, Aziraphale. I’ll show you.”

He crouched on the floor, over Crowley’s body, all shivery naked limbs, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but follow.

“See, you wouldn’t believe it, but we got him near a convent. Holy ground, very reckless of him. And then we asked, nicely, what were you doing there? And he said…” Gabriel’s hand curled over the back of Crowley’s neck, turning his head around so Aziraphale got his first proper look at him. His jaw was slack, his eyes closed tight, lips very pink against his pale face. “So Crowley, here, said, he’d been just doing his job. ‘Tempting, and stuff’, that’s how he put it. _Stuff_.”

Gabriel kept talking, and his hands kept moving, heavy and possessive over Crowley’s body. There was a lot of skin to touch; Crowley was naked, and it wasn’t the kind of innocent nudity that had been _de rigueur_ in Eden. In fact, the atmosphere in the room was turning positively carnal, and Gabriel’s touch roamed down Crowley’s body, lingering where Aziraphale’s eyes had never dared go.

“And you know, we all thought, we’ve gotta know what we’re up against! And we had a demon on our hands. So we’ve been practising a little with him. You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve learned—”

“Practised,” Aziraphale echoed, dully. “Do you mean that you’ve—”

“Yeah, that.” Gabriel shrugged. “The effort thing. It’s all demons _do_ , you know,” he said, confidentially. “They’d love it, if they had anything left to love with. Anyway, watch this.”

And Aziraphale watched, despite himself. It was Crowley, and Gabriel, and his own horrified fascination, and he felt his own body grow hot under his clothes at the obscene sight that was Crowley pressing up into the touch, instinctively, like he welcomed the feel of Gabriel’s hands on his body. He stared, wide-eyed, with mounting fear and something else twisting uncomfortably inside of him, and the more he looked the more he couldn’t look away.

“So you see, he’s got a nice responsive body. Just the usual, bit boring, but we can’t risk miracling him up. I’ll show you how everything works. But I bet,” said Gabriel, looking at Aziraphale pointedly, “you’ve already got some experience yourself, don’t you? All those centuries on Earth… you probably know what I’m talking about.”

Aziraphale knew. He watched Crowley’s chest rise and fall under Gabriel’s touch, from his shoulders to his hips, then between his legs, and when Gabriel turned him around, Aziraphale saw that he was hard.

“You know how this goes, right?” He wrapped his fingers around Crowley’s cock, casual and possessive, and Crowley — made a _noise_ , a breathy sound Aziraphale knew he wouldn’t ever get out of his mind. “It’s quite rewarding,” Gabriel went on. “You just touch him _here_ …” He shifted his wrist, and oh that didn’t look like it’d feel very good at all, Gabriel’s grip too tight, tugging too harshly, but you wouldn’t know it from the sounds Crowley was making.

“And he _likes_ it, see? You get all these reactions.”

He did it again, with the same methodical flick of his hand he’d use to brush a spot of dust off his suit. Once more, and Crowley groaned, and Aziraphale watched the curve of his hips as he thrust up into Gabriel’s hand.

“You should get one yourself, Aziraphale.”

He looked at Gabriel, startled, meeting a very pointed look and imperiously arched brows. “A _penis_ , Aziraphale. Not much to do just watching, otherwise. It’s fun, I promise. We should’ve figured this out centuries ago.”

“I’ve heard about that,” Aziraphale said, with some difficulty, and watched Crowley flinch at the sound of his voice. Crowley clearly didn’t wish to look at him, keeping his eyes still firmly shut and face turned away Gabriel manoeuvred him into it, and Aziraphale wished he could offer some comfort, touch him perhaps, let him know that he wasn’t alone. And worse of all was the desire coiling inside of him as he looked at Crowley like this, naked and hard with his chest blotched red, and the way he whimpered as he pushed up into Gabriel’s hand. He wished he could blame it on his too-human body, spoiled by centuries of earthly indulgences, but he knew better. Desire was of the soul.

He squirmed, uncomfortably aroused. Gabriel kept talking.

“See, look at this. He likes to be touched. I don’t think he likes the cage much, so when you take him out he’s all…” Crowley shivered. “Very grateful. You should’ve seen what Michael got him to do the other day, just by petting him a little bit. Come on, have a try.”

“I don’t think—”

“Go on,” said Gabriel, firmly. “Touch him. I want you to.”

And, well, he could hardly refuse. Slowly, Aziraphale ran his hand over Crowley’s arm, and felt him shudder. Calm, gentle touches, to let Crowley know that he was here, and he was sorry, and it all would—

“Oh, not the arm, Aziraphale. Do I have to show you everything?”

Aziraphale couldn’t help it. His eyes darted down, unconsciously, to where Gabriel’s fingers were stroking Crowley’s cock, red and leaking, and his mouth was suddenly dry. “You can’t possibly want me to—”

“Oh, don’t be fussy, man! There’s hardly anything demonic left in him. He’s got no powers, it’s all very human, he’s begging for it. Come on, give me your hand.”

“I don’t…” Aziraphale said, but he was stretching out his hand — his free hand, the other still caressing the back of Crowley’s neck, soothingly, and Gabriel clasped it by the wrist and led it down between Crowley’s legs.

“Okay, so, you’ve felt the penis. You should get one of those yourself, Aziraphale, are you on it? Anyway, these here?” Gabriel said. “Balls. Never thought much of them before, but feel this? That means he’s close. You play this right, he’ll do _anything_. Now, press here,” he said, guiding Aziraphale’s finger to tease as the soft skin behind Crowley’s balls, and when he pushed down slightly Crowley twitched into it.

“You know, I don’t know why he’s being so… boring,” Gabriel said. “Hey, sweetheart, why so glum?”

He smacked Crowley on the face with his hand still wet from Crowley’s cock. “Hey, look at me. I know you can do better.” And then he said, “You want to get back in the cage?”

Crowley’s eyes opened immediately, and Gabriel grinned at him. “Now we’re talking,” he said. “Hey, say hi to Aziraphale. He came to visit just for you.”

Aziraphale immediately dropped his gaze. Except that was worse, because if he looked down there was still Crowley, rather a lot of him, and his own hand that was still… He took it away, quickly.

“Honestly, Aziraphale, I promise. He’s not dangerous. Right?” he turned to Crowley. “Come on, man, say something. The other day he just couldn’t shut up when I was—”

Aziraphale watched Crowley’s throat move as he swallowed. His lips, pink and bitten, opened.

“Yeah?” he croaked. It was Crowley’s voice, so intimately familiar, and Aziraphale felt a flush of relief. Gently, he stroked Crowley’s shoulder, the back of his neck, and Crowley _trembled_ , and Aziraphale should hate it, but he couldn’t.

“Yeah?” Gabriel repeated. “That’s all you have to say? ‘Yeah’? Come on, give me something to work with here. I’m trying to show Aziraphale a good time. Hey, Aziraphale, look at this. _Look_.” He did something with his hand and Crowley groaned, biting down on his lip, and the sound of it went straight to Aziraphale’s treacherous cock. He shifted, uncomfortable, and there was no way Crowley hadn’t felt it, not this close, and his face flamed hot with shame and arousal.

“’s okay,” Crowley whispered, in between all the other noises Gabriel was coaxing out of him. “Feels good.”

“Yes it does,” Gabriel said, loud and cheerful. “See, I told you, it’s good fun for everyone. You should try playing with him back here, you know, the hole? He loves anything you fuck him with.”

“Isn’t that right?” he said, and Crowley nodded, need and shame flickering over his flushed face. His lips were wet, and Aziraphale thought about kissing him, all the impulses he’d repressed for centuries, and what had even been the point of that? Here they were, and Gabriel had his hands all over Crowley’s body, stroking his cock, making him gasp.

“Tell Aziraphale how much you like it, come on,” Gabriel urged. “Demons, that’s all they’re good for. Aziraphale, you’re up next, trust me, he’s going to be properly grateful for—”

“Oh, I don’t think…” Aziraphale said, but then Crowley shuddered, and his eyes — his wide pupils, the deep groan he made as he spilled in Gabriel’s hand, pushing up into Aziraphale’s hand on his neck, all that naked skin hungry for touch.

“See?” Gabriel said. “Bet he can’t wait. Now come on here, clean it up,” he said, holding out his white-streaked hand. His eyes met Aziraphale, over the small methodical licks of Crowley’s tongue across the palm of his hand, his thumb. “Demon filth,” he said, knowingly. “I’m not touching that more than I have to.”

In the six thousand years Aziraphale had spent advancing the cause of Heaven on Earth, he’d rarely seen Gabriel as pleased with himself as he was now, watching him watch Crowley lying on the floor, naked and wrecked.

And, in the six thousand years he’d known Crowley, he’d never found him so captivating to stare at. There must be something rotten inside of him, in the whole of Heaven, if that was what they were doing and calling it mercy. But he couldn’t take his eyes off Crowley on the floor, the sordid display that he made, and with every passing moment he felt himself grow hot and dazed and shamefully aroused.

“So I really want you to try now, Aziraphale,” Gabriel was saying. “I know it can feel a bit odd if you haven’t done it before, and that’s on us for discouraging this kind of earthly behaviours until now, but I truly believe this will do wonders for the morale of all of us in the office, and I want you to—”

“Morale? Gabriel, he’s a prisoner.” It was an exercise in hypocrisy, to object when he knew it would make no difference, but he had to say something. “Look at him!”

“He’s a demon,” said Gabriel, in the same tone. “A demon you’ve complained about plenty over the millennia, as I recall, and trust me, he’s going to like it. It’s for his own good, really. Tell me, what do you think his people would’ve done to you if it’d been the other way around?”

 _The same thing_ , Aziraphale thought, except that Hell wouldn’t have bothered pretending there was anything good about it. But Gabriel was looking at him with keen inhuman eyes, and didn’t seem at all unsettled by the implications of his own words, Heaven and Hell and Right and Wrong.

“C’mon, give it a go. I can see you want it,” he said, meaningfully, his gaze dropping down Aziraphale’s body. “Followed my advice, didn’t you? I can show you how to go about it. Just watch and learn.”

“I don’t think—” Aziraphale began, just as Crowley said, feeble and croaking and deafening in the sudden silence, “Can’t you just— get on with it?”

Aziraphale’s world went very still. He closed his mouth, startled, and watched Gabriel’s lips curl at the corners into a sharp smile.

“See? He wants us to do it,” Gabriel said. His eyes flickered down to Crowley on the floor, hungry and satisfied. “It’s all good. I told you he was coming along nicely.” With one hand, he began to loosen his necktie. “So, champ, how you wanna do it?”

Aziraphale didn’t want to imagine what his own face must look like, but it hardly mattered. Crowley wouldn’t meet his eyes, and Gabriel was waiting, expectant, and there was a dark part of himself that didn’t hate this as much as he should. It squirmed inside of him, twisted primal and eager, and Aziraphale felt it simmer and thought that he didn’t have the right to call himself an angel.

It was going to happen, here and now, and Crowley was just _waiting_ , naked and tense, like it was a matter of fact that he would— that Aziraphale would—

“Look.” Gabriel, impatient, broke the silence. “Just… let’s get this show on the road. Come up here, sunshine,” he said, and Aziraphale watched as Gabriel’s hand closed possessively around Crowley’s neck. There were fading bruises over Crowley’s hips shaped like fingertips, and then Crowley shuffled awkwardly up on his knees and Aziraphale couldn’t see his face at all.

He watched Gabriel’s hand on Crowley’s jaw, saw the brush of his thumb over Crowley’s lips.

“All right, watch this,” Gabriel said, and then he started unbuttoning his trousers. He did it slowly, with the care of a man who patronised the very best tailors, never mind that he could have disappeared the whole thing in a heartbeat and brought it back just as quickly.

“You know, I’ve found that making a bit of an effort really does marvels for the line of your trousers. You should talk to your tailor about it,” he said, conversationally, taking out his cock. It was rather bigger than Aziraphale thought was strictly necessary, or even sensible, although he supposed he should have expected that, from Gabriel.

“Now, here’s what is going to happen,” Gabriel went on. “He’s going to open his mouth, aren’t you sweetheart? Open wide.” He patted Crowley’s cheek, condescendingly, brushing the edges of the coiled snake inked into the skin. “And now I’m going to—”

“I know what you’re going to do,” Aziraphale said, curt, and Gabriel blinked. “Oh, you do? Excellent,” he said. “Why didn’t you say so? Anyway, watch this.” And then he lined up, and thrust his cock into Crowley’s mouth in one smooth motion.

Aziraphale swallowed. He watched Gabriel’s eyes fall closed, his lazy satisfied smile, the slow rolling of his hips as he pulled back out and then in again. He heard the choked sounds coming from Crowley’s throat, and he should have turned away in disgust, but he couldn’t.

“That really feels good,” Gabriel said, grinning brightly over the sound of frantic swallowing. “Very nice.” He was petting at Crowley’s head, playing with the hair at the back of his neck. “Finally good for something, aren’t you?” He kept at it for a while, smug and casually possessive, and Aziraphale’s face burned as he shifted uneasily on his feet, squirming under the weight of all the shame and guilt and want.

Gabriel pulled Crowley’s head away by his hair, and bent down to whisper something in Crowley’s ear that Aziraphale couldn’t hear. Then he straightened up, standing proud and bathed in heavenly light, clad in the finest tailoring from Savile Row, one hand casually wrapped around his obscenely large cock.

“All right, Aziraphale,” he called, cheerfully. “Now, I want you to come here and do your bit — no objections,” he said. “I won’t stand for it. You’re going to it, and you’re going to like it, and _he_ ’s going to like it, so really you’ll be doing him a favour. And you and I, we’ll get to do some bonding.”

“Come on,” Gabriel urged. “You’ve got to undo your clothes, like that— good work, yes. Vanishing the whole thing ruins the fabric, my tailor said, and he knows what he’s talking about. That too, open up those buttons, there’s a good guy.”

He winked at Aziraphale, like it was just another day at the job, as if he wasn’t fucking into Crowley’s mouth in time with his words and paying him no attention whatsoever.

“Now, just take it out, come on,” he instructed, as Aziraphale’s fingers closed around his cock. He hated that he was hard, and the brush of his fingers felt good, and his mind treacherously went to all the times he’d fucked into his own hand and thought about Crowley as he did it.

He wished, badly, that they were alone. He wanted to push Gabriel aside and cradle Crowley’s face in his hands and kiss him, look into Crowley’s eyes and lie to him.

“Look,” Gabriel said. “Just go ahead and fuck him. If he was really human we’d have to waste some time here, I think it’s called ‘preparation’? But don’t worry about it, we keep him ready. Just get on with it.”

He said it with all the imperiousness of an Archangel carrying a message from the Lord. Aziraphale was an angel of the Host, and he was weak, and a coward. He obeyed.

Moving slowly, dreamlike, he reached out to brush one of the red welts on Crowley’s back. Aziraphale felt him stiffen, limbs shaking as the next thrust of Gabriel’s cock in his throat had him choking. He stared and touched his fill, taking in all the details about Crowley that he’d never noticed before, in all the centuries he’d never let himself look too closely. The sinuous curve of his spine. The dimple on his lower back, on the left side. He traced the shape of Crowley’s body like a worshipper, and he thought about how he was going to hurt him.

“Go on, Aziraphale,” Gabriel urged — _temptingly_ , Aziraphale thought, and then he had to suppress a fit of horrified laughter. _Blasphemy_. But surely, he thought, there could be no worse desecration of what they were doing now.

“You’re going to fuck him,” Gabriel was saying. “It’ll be great, and then you can thank me afterwards, come on—”

He did. Crowley was right there, on his hands and knees, his back arched as he writhed with Gabriel’s hand at his neck, keeping him in place, mouthing at Gabriel’s cock, and Aziraphale was supposed to be better than this, but he wasn’t.

In six thousand years, Crowley was the only earthly temptation Aziraphale had never allowed himself. He’d pictured it sometimes, graphically and in detail; he’d gotten himself off with his eyes closed, whimpering into his palm, and then recoiled guiltily from the depths of his own mind. It was a dirty fantasy, a human perversion, unfit for an angel to entertain. He’d waited it out, hoping it would go away.

And now here he was, with all the seals of blessing he could possibly wish for, like some twisted parody of a wish come true. When he fucked into Crowley’s body for the first time, he found it felt better than anything he could have dreamed of, and as sickening as the worst corruption of Hell.

He pulled out, and then he bit down on his lip and did it all over again. He clung to the feeling of Crowley’s skin under his hands, shivering at the _sounds_ Crowley made as he fucked into him, small soft groans, hands shaking over Crowley’s hips as he pushed back against it, like he actually was enjoying the feeling of Aziraphale inside of him. It tasted, for a moment, like absolution.

Then Aziraphale remembered: Crowley with Gabriel earlier, pushing up into Gabriel’s touch like he truly couldn’t help it, Gabriel’s assurance that of course Crowley would enjoy it. _He’s coming along nicely_ , Gabriel had said, and Aziraphale shuddered at the memory. And still, he couldn’t stop.

His legs were shaking. The room echoed with obscene sounds, Gabriel’s loud groans and the noises of Crowley struggling for breath, and Aziraphale’s own breathing felt rough and harsh in the back of his throat. He caught glimpses of Gabriel’s face, his bright, friendly smile and implacable grip, his large hand firmly grasping Crowley’s hair.

When Gabriel finished, Aziraphale felt it in the way Crowley tightened and shuddered around him, gagging weakly as his whole body twitched, fighting for air. Gabriel didn’t let him pull back until he was done emptying into his mouth, and the more Crowley struggled the better it felt to be fucking into him, and Aziraphale wondered if this was what sin felt like.

“Oh, I think you’ve got the hang of it!” Gabriel said. “Well done.” He pulled back, carelessly, letting Crowley’s head go like he couldn’t be bothered anymore, and Crowley’s body lurched forward as he fell to the floor.

Aziraphale paused immediately, mid-thrust, face burning. Gabriel’s eyebrows rose.

“You can’t stop now,” Gabriel said, as he did up his trousers. “C’mon, this is the best bit! You, get back up,” he told Crowley. “Hands and knees, there’s a good demon.” He patted Crowley’s hip in a way that made Aziraphale’s blood boil, then turned to look at him.

“Keep going.”

It was excruciating. He resumed under Gabriel’s impassive eyes, keeping his own gaze trailed downwards until his sight blurred and he could barely see the shape of Crowley’s body, although it hardly made a difference to how good it felt. His hands were trembling, horror giving way to guilty arousal, and the thing was, he could feel himself getting close. It was only about controlling himself, so that Crowley wouldn’t think he was enjoying it— but he was enjoying, wasn’t he, and there was no use lying to himself any longer. At least this way he wouldn’t draw it out, Aziraphale thought, reluctance and arousal warring twisted inside of him until he couldn’t take it anymore, and then he was coming, fingers digging deep into Crowley’s hips as he emptied himself with a groan inside of him.

Slowly, in the distance, Gabriel clapped.

“Nice,” he said. “Didn’t think you had that in you but, I must say, I’m pretty proud.”

Aziraphale winced.

Slowly, he took stock of the situation. His hands were still on Crowley’s body, grasping at his hips with white-knuckled fingers, leaving red indents. His cock was still inside Crowley’s hole, softening and wet.

“Oh,” he said, looking at his fingers against Crowley’s pale skin. He would leave marks, adding to the bruises already there. “I’m— I’m sorry.”

“Oh, no need, no need,” said Gabriel, waving it away. “It’ll hardly be noticeable. He’s healed from worse.”

“Right.” He was still inside of Crowley, he realized; he pulled away immediately as though he was burning. He hated the thought of pushing Crowley away like this, leaving him crumpled up on the floor like a rag doll, filthy and fucked out, but he had to—he scrambled to clothe himself, then conjured a soft wet cloth from the air.

“Truly, I am sorry.” He crouched back down, hovering over Crowley’s body with the clean cloth. “May I?”

“If you must,” Gabriel said. Crowley didn’t say anything, but he didn’t pull away either when Aziraphale began to dab at his skin with the soft cloth, so he figured that was as good as permission.

“That’s considerate of you, cleaning up after yourself. I’ll let the guys know. They’ll appreciate it.”

Now that the arousal had subsided, there was nothing in his chest but burning shame. “I’m going to,” he said, uselessly, until the words died in his throat, drowned by the bitter aftertaste of bile.

Aziraphale’s hands shook as he worked, gently passing the cloth over Crowley’s limbs, shoulders. Crowley was trembling, too, but at least he didn’t recoil from Aziraphale’s touch. He vanished the dirty cloth and got himself another one, and began to gently clean Crowley’s back. He made his way lower, until… he had to clean Crowley _there_ , of course; he’d come inside of him just now, and it couldn’t be comfortable, but the thought of touching him so intimately felt like a horrible violation. And then Aziraphale had to bite down on his lip, so he wouldn’t laugh hysterically.

“Seriously, that’s going above and beyond, Aziraphale,” said Gabriel. “It’s hardly going to last, but it was really nice of you. Shows team spirit. Anyway, come on, let’s go. Now that this done, let me interest you in—”

“Wait,” Aziraphale blurted out. Gabriel paused.

“Wait, I mean… can I talk to him?”

Crowley, once again, wasn’t looking at him so carefully that he might as well have been staring blatantly. Every line of his body spoke of tension, from the set of his shoulders to the veins in his arms.

Gabriel, meanwhile, shrugged. “Talk to him? Well, why not. Go ahead, he’s listening.” Then he frowned. “Honestly, I don’t know what’s with him today, he’s usually a lot chattier. Anyway, go ahead, I can wait.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said. “I meant. Could I speak to him— alone?”

“Alone?” Gabriel’s frown grew deeper as he looked from Aziraphale to Crowley in turn. “Aziraphale. Right now, I’m not your boss, I’m your friend. You can talk in front of me. I’m not that much of a spoilsport, you know.”

“But would it be possible? I’d rather…”

“Oh,” Gabriel said, slowly. “Oh, _oh_ , I see how it is. You want to get naughty?” he asked. “Bit rough? Curse him a little bit, I bet. Well, I won’t tell if you won’t.” And then he winked, waiting expectantly, but so did Aziraphale.

Eventually, Gabriel sighed. “As an Archangel, I must remind you to conduct yourself appropriately. But, as your friend, I’m going to let you have some fun.”

And then he strode out, in a cloud of self-assuredness and impeccable tailoring, and the door closed behind him with a click.

The silence in the room was loud and terrible. Aziraphale swallowed, and pushed through it.

“Crowley.” He didn’t know what else to say, so he said it again, turning the name in his mouth, clinging to it like an anchor. “Crowley. Listen, I’m—”

“What year is it?”

Taken aback, he blinked. “What year?”

“Up— down on Earth,” said Crowley, urgently. It was the first time he’d shown a spark of emotion since Aziraphale had been brought to him here. “How long has it been?”

“The year 1900. It’s… it’s spring.”

“Oh,” said Crowley, softly. “I thought it’d been longer. Well, dawn of a new century, and all that. I hope you’re enjoying it. I’m…” He gestured, vaguely, with his hand, then sat up straighter with his knees to his chest, as if to hide himself from sight. “Well, I’m having a rough time of it at the moment, as you can see, but it really could be worse.”

“Crowley—”

“If you are going to say something idiotic, please don’t.” Crowley’s voice was raspy. Aziraphale supposed it rather would, what with what he’d just been doing, and the memory of it made him feel… guilty, and filthy, and something else.

“‘f you say something stupid, I’d have to say stupid right back, and then we’ll just waste time until Gabriel waltzes back in. Speaking of,” he said, “Gabriel. Is he always that chipper, or does he just really hate me? I keep trying to decide, and he’s always like that, and he’s driving me insane—”

“ _Crowley._ ” Aziraphale said. This time, he fell quiet. “Just… let me.”

His arms flailed uselessly at his sides. It was difficult to be this close and not touch; more difficult still to find the right words. The fact that neither of them could meet the other’s eyes put somewhat of a damper on communication, too.

“I am… truly, terribly sorry. If there is anything I can do to—”

“Oh, I’m sure there’s plenty you can do against Gabriel,” Crowley said. “Great job you did just now, telling him to shove it. The way you said, ‘Oh no Gabriel, I’m not doing it, I’d rather go back to Earth and get a demerit’. Oh, no, wait. You didn’t.”

This time he met Aziraphale’s gaze, and his eyes were like embers. “You bloody didn’t. You went along with it, pretty happily,” he said, and every word cut deeper. “And to think all those years, all I had to do to get you to—” And then Crowley’s mouth twisted, and he turned his face away.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, because he didn’t have any of the right words. He reached out, fingers brushing the side of Crowley’s neck, and Crowley flinched, pulling away as if he feared Aziraphale’s touch would burn.

“’m fine.” Crowley shrugged him away. “All I had to,” he said, and his voice was shaking, “so you’d— and all I needed all along was an Archangel to sign off on it? Should’ve guessed.”

Softly, Aziraphale said, “You didn’t say it.”

Crowley glared at him, but it was half-hearted. Aziraphale spoke the words slowly, one by one. “If you’d told me to stop,” he began, although of course they both knew what the stakes had been. “If you’d said ‘don’t’, after Gabriel had said to do it, I’d— I would have—”

“Disobeyed?” Crowley smiled a brittle lopsided grin, the kind Aziraphale was used to seeing only after three bottles of wine, or a run-in with the worst of the Spanish Inquisition. “You? Well, I’m glad you think that. I hope it makes you feel better.” He looked like he was trying, extremely hard, not to sound sincere.

“Not much,” Aziraphale said. “But I thank you for… trying to—”

“ _Angel_ ,” Crowley said, and then his studied smile crumbled off his face. “I’m… can you,” he said, and this time, when Aziraphale slowly extended a hand, he folded into the touch.

Aziraphale closed his eyes. He stroked the damp hair at the back of Crowley’s neck, and wished they could be anywhere else.

“Crowley, listen to me,” Aziraphale whispered, breathing into the crook of his neck. “I can’t go against Gabriel—”

“Clearly,” Crowley muttered.

“Not alone. But I could… that’s it,” he said, “If I had somewhere to take you to, and if…” Speaking the words made them real. Aziraphale pushed through it. “If… I didn’t have to worry about, going back, I might—”

“Are you.” Crowley straightened up, pushing him away. He glanced up to look Aziraphale in the eyes. “Are you really suggesting... _you_ ,” he said. “No, listen, you can’t do that. You know you don’t mean it. You’d— you would hate it down there, angel. And you’d hate me too for dragging you down with me.”

Aziraphale’s throat felt very tight. “There’s little chance of that.”

“Want to bet? No, listen, you were just thanking me for pulling you out of an impossible position. Let’s not do it again so soon.”

It was a dear habit of Crowley’s that, over the years, he’d sometimes take on burdens so Aziraphale didn’t have to. Minor things, usually, miracles that Aziraphale wouldn’t be able to explain away as part of his duties, little inconveniences that would melt away like snow under sunlight, and perhaps Aziraphale hadn’t always appreciated it like he should have. But he had to do something now.

“I want to,” he said, and didn’t let himself dwell on his true that was. “I could… carry messages, at least, if you want. If that could help, to help you escape, we could—”

“No,” Crowley said. “No, no, don’t even think about it. You don’t get it! It’s Hell. You don’t showcase your failures. What d’you think Hell’d do if they heard I spent twenty years getting buggered by a flock of angels? They’d be all ‘Oh, _wicked_ , let’s have a reenactment’.”

“Twenty years.” He bent his head. What had he been doing twenty years ago? Seeing _Pinafore_? Going to the club? And Crowley had been here the entire time.

“Yeah, you didn’t know, we weren’t speaking, can’t blame you. I wouldn’t come up here either if I was you.” Crowley’s mouth twisted, and a look went through his face that Aziraphale couldn’t even begin to decipher. “Me, on the other hand. Being being brought back here feels...” His lips moved, searching for the right words. Then he looked at Aziraphale. “Trust me, angel, you don’t want to Fall.”

And then he said, “You know, if you get the chance, you should take it.”

Aziraphale waited.

“The chance to… come up here,” Crowley said, slowly. “Do this again. You should.”

“Look,” said Crowley, again, before he had time to say anything. “Gabriel was right. That cage is… it’s a lot better to do… _this_ than being in there.”

Dully, Aziraphale heard himself said, “You never liked being a snake.”

“Not really, no. It feels awful. Heaven’s big on it, apparently. Very Biblical. So I wouldn’t mind it if you… I mean.” Crowley swallowed. “You’re… _you_. Better than Michael, that’s for sure. Listen— Aziraphale,” he said, with such raw openness that Aziraphale just had to look at him. His face must be burning, he knew, and there was so much he didn’t dare to speak, but they were here and Crowley hadn’t pushed him away yet, and he clung fiercely to that small hope of forgiveness.

Slowly, hesitating, he put his hand on Crowley’s face. He traced his cheek, the curve of his jaw, and Crowley sighed into it, mouth softening, chasing the touch.

“It feels good, you know?” he whispered. “That’s the worst part. After getting trapped in there, being out feels good. Being myself in Heaven feels— incredible. Being touched by an angel…” He shook his head. “Clever bit of torture. Almost deserving of Hell, ‘f you ask me.”

And then, with his eyes closed, he said, “You know, sometimes, when… I mean. I thought it was you. I knew it wasn’t, but I thought, if it was, maybe it’d be better?”

In the silence, Aziraphale could hear the loud beating of his own heart. He didn’t need one, of course, but he’d become accustomed to the soothing rhythm of it, the warm pumping of blood through his human body. And now he felt like his heart may _burst_.

“All right, all right, time up.”

He startled. It was Gabriel, striding through the door, and when Aziraphale turned towards him he found him staring between the two of them, dark brows arched.

“Bonding, aren’t you? I told you Aziraphale, he isn’t scary at all. Now,” he told Crowley. “In you go, and hurry. We’ve got places to be.”

Crowley hesitated. When he spoke, his voice was very thin. “Now? Isn’t it a bit… I mean, don’t you want to—”

Gabriel shrugged in Aziraphale’s direction. “See, he doesn’t want to get back in there. Yes, _now_ ,” he repeated. “If you wanted us to stay longer, you blew it being such a surly little bitch earlier,” he said, very pleasantly. “Do better next time, got it?”

And then, meaningfully, when Crowley didn’t speak. “Got it?”

“Yeah, sure. Got it.”

“Well, off you go then,” Gabriel said, expectantly, and Crowley, very slowly, stood up without looking at Aziraphale. He turned to the cage on the pedestal, put a hand on the glass, and his body rippled, and then he wasn’t there anymore.

The booming clap of Gabriel’s hands echoed in the room, making Aziraphale jump.

“Cool, isn’t it?” Gabriel said, looking at the snake in the cage. “You know, he’s not going anywhere.”

Gabriel’s smile was very sharp. Aziraphale’s hands clenched at his sides, heart hammering erratically in his throat. He swallowed. “Pardon?”

“Come on, you can’t lie to me. I’ve seen you,” Gabriel said. He clapped Aziraphale’s shoulder. “The way you were looking at him? I’m not stupid.”

Slowly, inexorably, he began urging Aziraphale out of the room. “I’m very glad I got you to come around to my point of view, Aziraphale. We’re keeping him right here, nice and safe, and if you ever want to start handing in your reports personally, show up for reviews in person, you’re welcome to. Get a nice performance bonus every once in a while, right?”

When Gabriel winked his eye twinkled like light gleaming off a blade, and Aziraphale wanted to say something, badly, but he couldn’t. If there was one thing all angels learned, it was that in Heaven one does not ask questions.

“Got it?” he said, in the same voice he’d used with Crowley, and Aziraphale nodded weakly.

“I could… I should be able to. If you’re keeping him here.” He spoke loudly, echoing Gabriel’s resolute tones, hoping Crowley would hear him from behind the glass. “With my adversary contained, I should be able to work more smoothly. Report regularly. So you can check up on things.” If he impressed Gabriel enough, perhaps he’ll let him come up more often. He’d been offered a promotion only a century ago; it could happen again. Aziraphale’s mind whirred, making plans.

“Sounds good!” Gabriel grinned, wide and cheerful, and pointed as a dagger. “You know how much I appreciate initiative. Well done, you.”

Then he clapped Aziraphale’s shoulder again, and began to steer him out of the room. “Now, let’s go. You haven’t seen what we’ve done with the new office yet.”


End file.
